Sorry for the late update, school started again, and I'm doing homework and working on a one shot, so I'm kind of busy. Sorry this is short.
10: Unpleasant conversations
"Daddy," Hamish cried, scrambling onto Sherlock's hospital bed after Mycroft had exited. The detective was hooked up to various tubes, his eyes barely open. His eyes widened however, when Hamish curled up beside him and dug his head into his side. John hung back, his head still spinning from the conversation with Mycroft. Of course he was right- he's always bloody right- but it wasn't just Sherlock who would suffer from a lack of cases. John Watson was a person of contrasts: doctor and solider, father and detective, wishing for a domestic life with his husband and also craving the danger of crime solving. Contrasts were a part of John as much as the way he dressed, and his eye colour. And John didn't want to give up danger anymore than Sherlock, in fear that he'd fully adopt the persona that he displayed- a boring domestic doctor. But he'd have to.
John closed his eyes in defeat, wishing he could find a way out, to find a way to live both lives. But this was it- time to persuade Sherlock to give up what had previously made his life worth living.
"It's alright Hamish, just my leg," Sherlock grunted, focusing completely on his son. Hamish didn't respond, taking the opportunity to cuddle Sherlock. Sherlock locked eyes with John from across the room, and John pointedly began looking through Sherlock's paperwork at the end of his bed, forcing the detective to engage with Hamish. It wasn't that Sherlock was a bad father, more that he didn't see the point in constantly smothering their son. Somewhat awkwardly, Sherlock began recounting what had occurred the previous night, practically swelling with pride when Hamish stared at him wide-eyed, and demanded to know more. Sherlock told the story as if John was the hero, which forced John to correct him multiple times.
Eventually, Hamish fell asleep, clearly emotionally and physically exhausted by the night's events. John took the opportunity to examine Sherlock's wound- technically he wasn't allowed to, but that wouldn't stop him.
"Something's bothering you," Sherlock observed, watching him closely. John was about to deny it, but realised now was the perfect time to talk to Sherlock. Reluctantly, he sat on the chair by the side of the bed and grabbed Sherlock's hand, rubbing circles onto it with his thumb. Sherlock waited expectantly- John was amazed he hadn't already deduced it somehow- while John struggled for words.
"I don't think it's a good idea to do field work anymore," John finally blurted out. Sherlock's face slipped into an impassive mask, and didn't comment.
"We've got two lives depending entirely on us, Sherlock. We can't carry on risking our lives, not when there's murderers involved," John said, hating every single word he said. Sherlock might as well have been a statue, his face wiped clean of emotion apart from his eyes. His eyes were scanning and calculating John, and trying to put together pieces of the puzzle that was John Watson.
"Of course, we'll still take cases, but we'll leave the life threatening stuff to Lestrade. And you can work from home, while I work at the surgery…" John trailed off, waiting for Sherlock to respond. It took two minutes for Sherlock to undoubtedly analyse the scenario from every angle in his head, before he tore his hand from John's.
"Out of the question," he said, deliberately averting eye contact and focusing on Hamish. Anger stirred in John's stomach, and he stood up abruptly.
"What do you mean? Don't you understand why we need to stop?" he hissed, glaring at his husband. Sherlock regarded him coolly, as if John was being unreasonable.
"I'm not being a stay at home dad," Sherlock spat, as if the title was equal to that of a bin man. John gaped at him, wondering how he could be self centred.
"This isn't about you, Sherlock. It's about our children," John retorted.
"So parenthood means giving up what you love?" Sherlock whisper-shouted, conscious of Hamish sleeping soundly. John threw up his hands in disbelief, now pacing back and forth.
"Well, yeah! Every parent has to make sacrifices," John shot at the cold, machine-like man in the hospital bed. Sherlock's face was still blank, but his eyes were furious.
"I didn't realise that giving up my passion in life was necessary in order to gain the status of the perfect parent," Sherlock growled. John marched across the room, and scooped up Hamish, careful to not to wake him.
"In that case, I guess you'll have to choose, Sherlock. The work, or your children," John seethed, before almost running from the room. That conversation could have gone better.
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John wasn't expecting to fight Sherlock about the issue for the rest of the pregnancy. And he got his wish- during the days he spent at Sherlock's bedside, the issue didn't emerge, and John didn't bring it up. They just talked about anything, anything, but giving up the cases. Once Sherlock was released, armed with crutches that he deemed completely unnecessary, they were swept away in baby preparations and dealing with the builders that were renovating 221 Baker Street. Thankfully the builders weren't invading what used to be 221B, so they could continue life as usual. And the issues didn't come up, because they were too busy.
John found himself enjoying buying unisex baby clothes, and brand new stuffed toys, as well as decorating the baby's room. The cot was going to reside in him and Sherlock's room for the first few weeks, before the baby moved to the downstairs bedroom. The nursery was painted a light yellow, and full of baby books and toys, some new and some of Hamish's old things. When they entered the January, the month when the baby was due, John thought himself completely prepared for the baby's arrival, but all of that flew out the window when he got the phone call.
He and Sherlock were curled up on the sofa, the detective sifting through some case files while John read an old medical text book. They still hadn't discussed giving up the crime solving, although John had found many opportunities to bring the issue up. But he hadn't, and John knew it would mean a huge row in the long term, however he was content to pretend that there was nothing wrong and hope that the issue would go away. The argument a few months ago didn't stop John from curling up underneath Sherlock's arm, and Sherlock resting his hand on John's jean-clad knee, relishing in the domestic bliss that was rare for Baker street. The shrill ringtone of John's phone disturbed the silence, and John fumbled for it, cursing the caller since Sherlock had almost fallen asleep, for once.
"Hello?" he snapped, half smiling at the sight of Sherlock blinking drowsily and trying to recapture his surroundings.
"Natalie's gone into labour. I'll send a car to take Hamish to Gregory's, and a car for you and my brother," Mycroft's irritatingly calm voice responded. John sat up straight, running his fingers through his hair.
"Shit. We'll be right there," he said, before hanging up and springing into action.
"The baby's coming, get Hamish, while I pack his bag," John almost shouted at Sherlock, who looked thoroughly startled. John could have kicked himself for forgetting to assemble a bag for Hamish- he grabbed the first clothes he could find, and threw them in a backpack, along with Hamish's bee toy and his toothbrush. Sherlock met him in the hall, carrying a half asleep three year old. His eyes betrayed his otherwise calm demeanour, and John wished that he could soothe his husband. But now wasn't the time- oh shit, we're having another baby- and John could only focus on getting to the hospital in time for the delivery. John honestly couldn't remember saying goodbye to Hamish, or rushing to the hospital. Post parental panic was consuming him, and only Sherlock's cool, collected voice could snap him out of it.
"John. Calm down, or I'll have you thrown out of the delivery room,"
Oh Christ. John collapsed into a chair, head in his hands, as Natalie's screams echoed around the hall.
Next update will be from Saturday to Monday.